Throwback

128.

I don’t need a love so adventurous, daring and impossibly cunning, thoughts of prince charmings or valiant foes.

All I would be in want for is a love so gentle, so subtle, like the faint touch of the elbow to show hey, I’m here to support you,

And I’m certain that kind of simplicity will do.

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121.

Rewriting an old piece that holds a portion of myself.

Best friends, pursuers of the world hidden within words. She speaks often, but he remains imprisoned in the mind despite superior comprehension. In the quiet reads, there is a feeling to strive for.

There he is, leaning against the large tree trunk, balanced on a branch with a burgundy tome in his possession. The consumption of knowledge undeterred until sight is obscured by pesky hands.

Articulate her name with a notable scowl, earning a laugh from the brunette, bearer of a diminutive smile that he adored best. Hello, she utters, and while he has every intention to shake his head at the impertinence, it does not come to pass as a gentle notion flutters across his complex mind.

She acquired a fear of scaling trees after an incident involving the death of a featherless baby bird. It tumbled out of its twig nest. Accusing herself a murderer, the pain and guilt that beset the heart. This fear he prayed against, that its tendrils would no longer need to tangle with her conscience, that he would be one quelling these possibilities. That they would have to creep past him to get to her.

The silly idea that hums at the back of his mind.

The fact that the brunette scales the tree would mean two things: that she is prepared to overcome her fears, and that she is in want of his company despite adversity. Incredibly heartwarming. Congratulations, he says tersely, before returning to his read. Dissatisfied by his choice, she pesters him with childish methods before imbalance overtakes.

Eyes wide, arm outstretched to catch the falling, astonishment flitting past chocolate eyes, the strange lightness of being before crashing. The throbbing that slowly receded, even she notes the magnificent cerulean sky. Turn to the side, lips that curl.

Best friend, she mildly teased. Didn’t you promise me that you’ll catch me when I fall?

Auburn eyes that crinkle. The voice that stirs wizened leaves.

I already have, are the words he softly whisper as he raises their interlocked fingers before her very own eyes.

And had she not known any better, it is surely in that moment that her heart would have swayed.

58.

Once, I wrote this for a contest entry. Since nothing happened, I decided that I could leave it here.

In this world, time travelling is a right. It is not a mere privilege belonging to the well-dressed elites. No matter who you are or what you have done, it is a unique situation where implementing this right is as simple as walking through an office door. A specific one. Alongside the fact that as we all know of our typical government institutions, the waiting line makes for cheery company.

Numbers are taken even as one waits in increasing impatience for the special appointment. Feet are tapping, constructing an unintended chorus of tap dancers if one listened close enough. Here, silence is mandatory. No one wants to know why you are here to change something in the time frame. In fact, they would rather not be enlightened in this manner. This unspoken rule befits all.

A newspaper picked up for perusal is immediately dismissed. The state of the economy is no smiling matter and as it happens, yours truly is an entrepreneur in this field. There is no tomorrow, the headline contemplates. What is tomorrow, however? Is the stroke past midnight, or the voice that tells you keep going forward? We live in a sea of ambiguity, with no permanent anchor to hold us. This reckless freedom brings me to a particular attention.

In this world, the number one has not always been the first. (more…)

28.

Charming things my fiction have said. I’ve decided to give them alternating styles to make it easier for the eyes.

Has she, then, been a constant stranger I’ve been completely unaware of? Then maybe some strangers never quite leave you, and why – I will be sufficient in intrepidity to mention that she should never go.

Don’t leave. Don’t go just when I’m about to find my feet to find you.

I don’t think we can ever point out a reason why we are in that state toward someone, in this prominent attraction. I believe it’s just as simple as this.

It will happen one day, one normal day whilst you are looking at him or her, and realise that you can’t let them go just as they are, just as you are. And that revelation will never leave you the same person again.

I won’t deny you being a catch, but I will not have you as a prize. I want you to win, and so if you are willing, please do.

This game has already been rigged from the start.

You are the face in the crowd that I cannot forget.

Is this how he speaks I love you? Biting another mouthful of cotton candy, I chew properly as I watch him quietly. And I can guarantee that the joy of his heart reaches his eyes, pulling his lips into a full grin. The subtle amount of colouring on his cheeks makes him all the more appealing to me.

So much that I have to turn the other way.

Our lives have collided into one pathway, and I’ll never be the same again.

I don’t want to hurt her with my actions. I have asked for the reason behind such tears before, but a poor smile was all I ever got. So after five until six in the evening is the time in which I would spend my time with her quietly.

Sometimes I would be rearranging the books. Sweeping the floor. Discreetly pass her a piece of tissue. Write her the weirdest poems. Try to make light conversations. Get her a drink. Compliment her shoes. Say some jokes. I sound like I’m in love.

Just don’t let the people who don’t deserve your trust be the reason why you fear trusting. Like I said before, I meant every word. And definitely, every ‘I love you’. I repeat so that you won’t forget.

This connection exists because we’re the same. Somehow, we both want to belong. And so, we exist on the same emotional plane.

Of course I remembered you. I thought of you every day. How you were. Your likes and dislikes. I’m sorry for never telling anyone about you. Because I didn’t want to.

… You’re special.

What a sentimental night, seeing these passages crop up, making the present me wonder how I came to write these things.

This mind will keep writing.

27.

Something I wrote, almost a year ago. I’ve already forgotten all about it.

The past, present and future. They are intertwined, laced fingers; but they cannot carry what the other only can. This is as close as they can get. What is one without the other? A party of three they may be, but they are all vital to the idea of existence and its continuity.